Since I quit smoking cigarettes, I've come to depend on weed to get me through my day: it's my level, my strength, my motivation to take one more breath. When I wake up in the morning and another day stretches endlessly before me, it takes everything I have not to roll over and hide. Play dead, Claire. Now play happy. Play devoted. Play well-adjusted. Where did this depression come from? It's not the product of any outside influence (though they've all contributed), so it must be mostly internal. I'm terrified of these feelings,

and so I smoke and smoke and smoke, and the days pass.

I quit smoking cigarettes, and my alcoholism and drug use are now bordering on unhealthy. I may have to make a trade-off, soon, because I can't see this getting any better.

Unless I get a fucking job! All these feelings are a probably a product of idleness and obsessive-compulsive flare-ups.